Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Soiled Virgin

A fresh sheet. Immaculate in his whiteness. Evenly spaced lines streak his face. Hinting that he knows more than he lets on with that blank stare. He quivers, ever so slightly, at my touch. He beckons, yet holds himself back. What is his story?

He calls out to his prey, snugly cradled in my breast pocket. Its bold blue ink warmed by my chest. I can feel the virgin's longing. I take the innocent from its haven and gently place down my offering. He tastes. One drop. And it forever soils him.

He takes. And takes. The victim's life flows from its core and spills onto him. It fills his corners until the host is spent. A shell with a chewed out tip a shade lighter than the rest. As for him, he is indelibly changed. Raw and naked, beautiful in his ugliness, he splays himself out for all to see.